Danforth, the Latte Boy
by talcumpowder
Summary: Ryan is finding that the only thing more addicting than Starbucks coffee is Danforth's smiles. Chyan.


**Pre-Notes:** I'm not allowed to drink coffee, therefore I have no idea how Starbucks actually works beyond that you get your name written on the cups and they serve excellent pastries.**  
Disclaimer:** My last name isn't Disney, it's Yamanaka.**  
Summary:** Ryan is finding that the only thing more addicting than Starbucks coffee is Danforth's smiles.

* * *

**Danforth, the Latte Boy**  
Or: _Today, at 8:11_

It was exactly 8:11, which was 11 minutes past 8, which was 11 minutes past when Ryan Evans should have been at work, which was 11 minutes past when Ryan Evans should have been at Starbucks.

But, at exactly 8:11, Ryan Evans was standing in a Starbucks and trying to make sense of the menu while he waited and besides those 11 minutes didn't matter because—what the hell was a _venti_? Couldn't they just use small, medium and large? Bah. Anyway, the 11 minutes didn't matter because Ryan knew the director would forgive him for being late if he explained the reason behind the lateness. The cast would, and Ryan knew this for a fact, excuse his tardiness if it was because of coffee. His behavior was ten times worse if—did they not just serve a regular cup of coffee? Was that so hard? Was it really? Ryan didn't think that a coffee place serving a nice, normal cup of coffee was such a difficult thing to ask for. It was like asking for there to be music in a musical—it was just something that _was_.

He tapped his foot irritably and walked up to the cash register fully intent on demanding whatever their largest size of regular coffee was because the menu didn't make any fucking sense.

Until he saw the cashier, anyway. The cashier was the most gorgeous man Ryan had ever seen—which was saying quite a bit, because Ryan worked in theatre and he saw a lot of attractive men. But this lowly Starbucks cashier blew them all out of the water. Several times over. Ryan's (fairly accurate) gaydar was saying "STRAIGHT!" rather loudly when the cashier smiled. Ryan melted a little and the lady behind him coughed. Loudly.

"What can I get you today?"

Ryan almost _almost _slipped up and said _your number_, but he managed to regain his senses at the last moment and smile back before rattling off a highly ridiculous latte from the menu. Hell if he knew what was in the stupid thing, but it sounded decent and god did he want to stand there forever for the express purpose of staring at this Adonis of coffee. Honestly, it was almost _criminal_ how sexy the cashier was. Also, that was his ridiculous latte with the ridiculous price tag to match coming toward him. And Ryan paid, moving out of the way for the next customer, before he remembered that _oh shit he was late_ and the director was going to be more than a little pissed but—hey. Whatever he had just ordered was actually good. Uh. Oh yes, work.

It was . . . Important! And there was the theatre, thank god it was only a dress rehearsal. Besides, he always got changed first anyway. It wasn't that big of a deal.

"Evans, you're late!"  
Ryan held up the cup he was holding, "Coffee run."  
"Get your ass to dressing!"

Ryan waved off the director and entered the dressing room. He set the cup down and changed quickly before returning and inhaling the rest of the coffee. Some quick make-up and a smoothing of his hair later, Ryan was good. The whole Starbucks situation was sort-of stuck in his mind though—it was not his best performance, to be sure.

In fact it was very sing a line _his name was Danforth_ say his next line _god he was hot_ do a dance move _wait that makes him Danforth the latte boy_ finish the dance _I think I need to go to Starbucks more often_. Luckily, everyone was a little off for one reason or another—the costume department had gone a little crazy with the spandex on some costumes and the performers wearing them were trying to adjust to the change. Either way, no one actually noticed how distracted Ryan was, which was a very good thing. He was glad it was all over though, especially as he slid into his car.

Ryan popped in a CD from the bottom of the pile in his car and skipped forward to track 8.

"_There's a boy who works at Starbucks who is very inspirational. He is very inspirational because of many things_."

Ryan smiled before starting the car and driving home. Danforth, the latte boy. He liked the sound of that, even if he was 85% sure that the current situation was going to end up a little more like "Taylor's Response." Not that Ryan was going to stalk Danforth or anything, it was just not going to be as pretty as he would like. After all, his gaydar was hardly ever wrong and it had called STRAIGHT on this one. Ryan trusted his gaydar in most circumstances until shown evidence to prove otherwise.

Which was probably why Ryan ended up in Starbucks again the next day—though this time slightly earlier—it was 7:45 to be exact. Hey, no one said that gay guys couldn't ogle straight ones. Straight guys were allowed to ogle lesbians after all.

"What can I get you today?"  
"A Grande vanilla, non-fat latte."  
"Gotcha."

After paying and receiving his coffee, Ryan hopped back into his car and went to rehearsal. The entire way there, he kept "Taylor, The Latte Boy" on repeat.

* * *

Chad Danforth really really _really_ hated his job. He hated coffee, he hated serving simpering girls, he hated pushing buttons on the register, he hated refilling the creamer pitcher and most of fucking _all_ he hated making lattes. Something about the word _latte_ just pissed him off beyond all belief. So really, it should have been doomed from the beginning. The sexiest guy he had ever seen (and really, why did his heterosexuality desert him so often?) walked into Starbucks at 8:11. Not that Chad was gay or anything—he just appreciated a nice ass when he saw one, regardless of what gender the ass was on. And this guy had a _really_ nice ass. Pretty voice too.

There was, of course, something wrong with the guy: he ordered a latte.

* * *

After about a week of visits to Starbucks (and six or seven ridiculous lattes), Ryan decided that the whole experience really required a call to his sister. Granted, Sharpay wasn't just Ryan's sister—she was his _twin_, which is a highly different situation. The pair had an unspoken (and as of yet, unbroken) pact to always tell the brutal and honest truth to each other. It had weakened ever so slightly since Ryan had decided on Broadway and Sharpay had decided on Hollywood. The bond hadn't broken though and neither twin was opposed to phone calls at strange times asking for advice.

"Shar?"  
"Hey, Ry. What's up?"  
"Danforth," Ryan said before tacking on an afterthought: "the latte boy."  
"Ry," Sharpay sighed, "you are a fool if you serenade him. You are a fool for considering it in the first place, but you'll be an even bigger fool if you serenade him. And no stalking!"  
"Honestly," Ryan whined, "what was the last time I stalked someone? I don't stalk people!"  
"You are a stalker. Like the rebuttal—_Ryan, the stalker guy_, you know?"  
"It's not stalking! It's . . . Selective proximity."  
"Face the facts," Sharpay said in her _this is not up for discussion_ voice, "it's stalking. Get over it. Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got an appointment. No serenading!"

The line abruptly went dead and Ryan sighed. On the one hand, Sharpay would be able to _tell_ if he had been visiting the latte boy. On the other hand, the latte boy was seriously hot and Ryan needed coffee anyways. If he had to pay five dollars to get the coffee _and_ the added bonus of a hot cashier/latte boy, then Ryan considered that a very small price to pay.

Which is probably why Ryan showed up at the Starbucks every morning for the next week and ordered a ridiculous latte. He wasn't sure if Danforth's ridiculous lattes or Danforth's ridiculous smiles were more addicting. And he didn't really care.

It didn't much matter—the more important and pressing question was how, exactly, Ryan had become so obsessed with both.

* * *

"For the last time, Gabriella, I don't want to go."

Chad crossed his arms resolutely and stared straight into the unforgivably sad (and possibly heartbroken) face of his best friend's girlfriend. He sighed, closed his eyes and tried to quell the tiny, tiny voice inside of him that said something along the lines of _it's only one night, really it's no big deal_.

It was an unsuccessful campaign from the beginning.

"Fine," Chad said suddenly, "I'll go."  
Gabriella's face brightened, "Really?"  
"Yeah."

The way Gabriella starts chattering, Chad thinks he's signed his death warrant.

* * *

There is something absolutely obscene about how sexy Mr. 8:11's (though today it is not 8:11) ass is. Chad is totally fucked and he knows it—but he can't quite get over the fact that the guy is ordering lattes. Why? Why did the perfect guy have to go and order the drink that Chad hated the most?

_Because_, a tiny voice inside Chad's head said, _you are straight. _

And even if Chad wanted to agree with that statement—he wasn't always sure if it was a true one, especially because Christian Bale is pretty hot—Mr. 8:11's ass is distracting him from doing it. In fact, that's probably why he slips the extra foam in. Distracted. Very, very distracted.

Not that Mr. 8:11 notices the extra foam. Mr. 8:11 notices very few things, at least from what Chad's seen of him. Maybe he's having the same problem as Chad—but probably not.

* * *

"Your girlfriend," Chad sighed, "is wicked."  
"She's _what_?"

Troy looked up at him with that sort-of dumbfounded expression that Chad had come to associate with him. Chad sighed again. He loved Troy (in a totally bromance-y, Turk and JD way), but man. Sometimes he just. Didn't get it.

"She convinced me to go see that stupid show._ I don't know how_."  
"Chad," Troy said with very, very dramatic seriousness, "Gabriella would never make you do something you didn't want to do."

Chad found it very hard not to laugh at that statement.

* * *

Mr. 8:11 (Chad should really find something else to call him) is really very stunning. Chad notices this in a very subtly different way from noticing that they are out of creamer again _dammit_ or noticing that some pretty girl is trying to flirt with him and failing miserably _again_ or noticing that the days he feels the shittiest are the ones where people decide to order what seems like nothing but _lattes_.

Though somehow, when Mr. 8:11 orders a latte, there is less annoyance and more distraction resulting accidental extra foam. Chad has the sneaking suspicion that Mr. 8:11 is beginning to think all lattes come with that much foam. Chad is never going to correct him if that is the case, because Chad will gladly keep putting extra foam in Mr. 8:11's lattes as a small thanks for making his shitty day just a tiny bit better. Non-verbally, of course. It wasn't like Chad was going to jump on a table and announce, to all the little old grannies and businessmen and hip teens and other folk that inhabited Starbucks that he, Chad Danforth, would like to thank Mr. 8:11 for making his day not suck as much.

It's starting to sound like a good idea, though.

* * *

It was not a sexy musical. Not really. Well, it was kind of sexy in certain parts but on the whole it was not a sexy musical—mostly because it was a retelling of a biblical story. It wasn't allowed to be sexy (even if Donny Osmond was too sexy for his own good sometimes) because that would be sacrilege or something of that sort. It just wasn't . . . _Kosher._

Nonetheless, Ryan spent about half of the play (or at least a quarter) pretty much half-naked. He had no problem with it because he was not self-conscious. He was, perhaps, a little lighter than he should have been for the part but he really thought that his talent and voice would carry him, rather than his appearance. This wasn't, however, the best part for Ryan and nearly everyone knew it. To truly showcase his talent, a part needed a large amount of dancing. It _was_ his specialty, after all. In fact, something from_ CATS_ would probably be perfect for him but there wasn't a running production of _CATS_ and this was the next best thing—it showcased his voice, at the very least. And his acting, of course.

Which is why Ryan was very excited to be performing in it and he hardly ever got excited about things like that anymore. It was just a job, after all. Granted, it was a pretty glamorous job but it was still just a job.

And because it was a job, he got yelled at when his performance was less than stellar. He was the lead and if he couldn't carry his part, then the whole show suffered—but he couldn't stop thinking about the stupid latte boy. Fucking Danforth. Ryan half-listened to the director bitch and moan about his work ethic or something, but he really wasn't paying much attention at all.

It was nearly opening night, which meant (among other things) that Ryan would have to do an absolutely stellar job. And he knew that, he really did. But his heart just . . . Wasn't in the song. He really hoped he got out of the stupid funk he was in before opening night, though. For everyone's sake.

* * *

"It's going to be so much fun, Chad!"

Something about the way Gabriella says it makes Chad want to cringe. Instead, he merely smiles and says something that feels like a total lie. He isn't quite sure what he said, but Gabriella accepts it.

* * *

It occurs to Chad on one of the mornings when Mr. 8:11 comes in that it has been nearly a month of lattes and he still doesn't have a name. This strikes Chad as odd because he usually knows his regulars' names after a month or so. He is a nice guy like that—most of them are girls who give out their phone number like candy, but that is beside the point. The point is that the only regular's name that he has ever _wanted_ to know is the only one he doesn't know.

Chad contemplates ways to get around this problem. He is much too totally safe (except that is a lie) in his heterosexuality to just come out and ask for a last name. He is also much too intimidated/distracted to ever remember his first name. Surely, a specimen of such fine quality would have a girlfriend anyway? Possibly a boyfriend.

Actually (if those pink pants were any indication), it was probably a boyfriend.

* * *

"Are you ready to go, Chad?"

There is a brief and fleeting moment where Chad contemplates telling Gabriella he has caught the world's worst 24-hour virus, but he really hates seeing her sad. And he knows Troy would be upset—which is never a good thing. It usually involved some kind of emo—expressed through bad, horrible music played inexpertly on his electric guitar.

Chad manages a smile, "Yeah."

* * *

"Evans, queue up!"

Ryan obediently started walking to the front doors of the auditorium, glancing at the live feed TV—just a quick look to see how the crowd was filling up—and nearly tripped over a wire. There was (if it was not actually him) someone that looked remarkably like Danforth, the latte boy in the audience.

Right then and there, Ryan resolved to make this the shining star performance of his career. He absolutely did not want to look bad on stage in front of Danforth, because that would be an awful lot like losing a game they weren't even playing. He waited patiently, thanking deities for the auditorium being small enough that no one would think it was weird if he paid particular attention to Danforth. There wasn't much else to look at, after all.

But there wasn't much time to think about that, because the earpiece was telling him that the doors were about to open. Ryan took a deep breath and walked forward, waiting for his cue. When it came, he opened his mouth to sing in a way he reserved solely for performance nights.

"_I closed my eyes—drew back the curtain  
To see for certain what I thought I knew.  
Far far away, someone was weeping—  
But the world was sleeping.  
Any dream will do._"

As he made his way down the aisles, he stopped to interact with a few of the kids sitting on the outer seats. He also looked directly at Danforth for what was probably slightly longer than strictly necessary before reaching the stage, where the girl who played the Narrator (her name escaped Ryan at the moment) handed him his coat. He smiled at her and ran offstage, putting the coat on and grabbing his props while waiting for his next cue. This performance was going to be a stellar one, Ryan could already tell.

And he was never wrong about things like that. Ever.

* * *

The day Gabriella is going to take him to see some opening night of some musical is the day when Mr. 8:11—_Ryan,_ Chad corrects himself—shows up and doesn't order a latte. Instead, he orders a venti coffee. Just coffee, though Chad is amused to note that Ryan puts an awful lot of sugar and cream into it. And he's secretly proud that he now remembers Ryan's name, although that is not such an amazing feat in the grand scheme of things—but it's a start, isn't it?

Either way, Chad is sad to see Ryan go. Someday, he tells himself, he will get the nerve to actually make small talk with Ryan. Maybe. Probably not.

Without skipping a beat, Chad calls the next customer up and prepares their order while trying to run through possible scenarios in his head. To his credit though, Chad doesn't fuck up any of the orders on his shift. And when he goes home to get ready, he doesn't crash into anything. Chad counts this as a small victory and tries not to remind himself of where, exactly, he is going later.

* * *

"_Any dream will do_."

The words send a shiver down Chad's spine. It isn't a sexy song, but something about the way Ryan (Evans, he has found out from his playbill) is singing it makes it seem sexy to Chad. It almost seems as if Ryan has noticed him for several seconds—their eyes lock and Chad squirms slightly, unaware of Gabriella's clearly concerned look.

Then Ryan isn't on stage any more and Chad finds he is having a hard time paying attention.

* * *

The next morning, Ryan Evans walked into Chad's Starbucks with an incredible and almost giddy air about him. This made Chad smile a little wider than normal when he asked what Ryan wanted, because that sort of thing was infectious and Chad had a weak immune system (or maybe that was a weak will?) when it came to that sort of thing. And then, for some inane and completely incomprehensible reason, Chad makes a sort-of offhand and random comment about Ryan's performance.

"Hey, I saw you on stage last night. You were good."

That's the end of it, but it's still pretty strange. And, if Chad isn't mistaken, Ryan smiles a little brighter than usual when he says that. He also waves goodbye to Chad as he's going out to his car, which makes Chad feel ridiculously awesome for the rest of the day—even though everyone pretty much orders nothing but lattes. It's kind of strange, but Chad is beginning to realise that maybe he doesn't hate lattes so much any more. And okay, maybe he's not a 2 on the Kinsey scale. Maybe he's more like a three.

There's nothing wrong with that, right?

* * *

It was a stellar performance. And Ryan knew that the rest of the performances would be stellar too because all he really had to do was pretend that Danforth was there to get that level of performance. Really, the whole thing was very simple. Like 2+2 or tying his shoes—never mind the fact that 2+2=5 for extremely large values of 2 or that Ryan really hadn't learned to tie his shoes until he was eight. That was all irrelevant information that no one cared about.

And while that was sad, Ryan really hadn't found anyone he'd be willing to share those stories with. All of them, anyway. Sure, he told a story every now and then (with plenty of artistic license of course) to his castmates or friends. That was just something everyone did, but Ryan hadn't yet found the person that he'd be willing to tell every story to. Everything—from winning Little League Championships to losing his virginity to a pool boy named Javier the summer between sophomore and junior year to that time when he'd had to be Sharpay's understudy for a play and no one had been able to tell the difference between them when they'd decided to switch just for fun.

Ryan wanted someone to tell all those stories to, because he liked telling stories and he liked creating new and interesting stories to add to his seemingly inexhaustible store. Maybe that was what drew him to Danforth—maybe he saw it as a challenge that hey, even if it failed it would still be an interesting story at the end of the day, wouldn't it? And really, the interesting stories were always worth it.

So Ryan is somewhat delighted when Danforth makes an off-hand comment about his performance the next morning. It is short and brief, but it sort of feels like Ryan's heart suddenly grew wings that allowed it to fly high enough that really. Nothing could bring it down, which was somewhat of a rare feat for Ryan. He was very down-to-Earth most of the time.

The rest of the day, he keeps humming the chorus of "Taylor, the Latte Boy" under his breath. Everyone thinks it's a little weird, but doesn't mention it because Ryan gets unusually jumpy when he's pulled out of a trance like that. Jumpy and defensive, actually.

It's funny though, because everyone can see that something is changing but no one can figure out what. No one thinks it has to do with the lattes Ryan keeps buying, but some are considering the possibility. Ryan did always love his coffee after all—it wouldn't be that weird if he was now truly happy after finding the perfect cup of coffee for himself. The song he has become strangely obsessed with is a major clue, though no one is really sure exactly what the exact answer to the mystery is.

They're not really big on figuring it out, either. If Ryan is happy and he's performing fine, then it's not really anyone's concern what he's doing or why he's acting so strange or why in Michael Crawford's name he would pay so much money for mediocre coffee.

Well, at least they're fairly sure the answer to the last question is drugs. Everyone knows Starbucks put something in their coffee to up the addictivity.

* * *

"I know that look. There's a girl you're crushing on."

Chad turned to look at Troy. The statement was partially (but not entirely) true and Chad was pretty sure that Ryan would take offence to being called a girl. But then again, maybe not. Who knew? Chad didn't. He wasn't a big part of Ryan's life or anything, as it was.

Troy nudged Chad, "So, who is she?"  
"No one," Chad shrugged, "I was just thinking."  
"That's the worst lie I have ever heard."

Chad looked away from Troy then. He really wanted to laugh, but that would be kind of rude and he didn't want to upset Troy or anything. Instead, Chad looked back at Troy and told the truth.

"He's this guy that comes in every morning. His name is Ryan Evans."

* * *

Chad had a plan. A real and serious (but slightly strange and probably vaguely creepy) plan. So when Ryan came in for his latte (pumpkin spice for some reason), Chad set his plan into motion. He thought it was kind of brilliant, but then again Troy _had _said it was kind of weird. Chad didn't actually care though, because he had seen some of the girl baristas do it and they always had boyfriends afterwards. Usually. Well, whatever. His plan was awesome.

He was going to write his number on Ryan's cup. Yes. It was clearly brilliant.

* * *

Exactly six months after Ryan started going to Starbucks every morning he could get there, something weird and possibly a little surprising (Ryan denies that it was) happened. It was a pretty normal morning, so he hadn't really expected anything out of the ordinary. Ryan rather liked the ordinary, so he didn't really want extraordinary most of the time.

He almost doesn't notice it, actually. It's written hastily on the cup and Ryan notices about halfway through his latte. And then he immediately saves the number in his phone and for about a minute Ryan stares at his phone trying to decide whether or not he wants to call it. He's not the type to make the first call, so instead he calls his sister. Because clearly that's the sensible thing to do.

"Shar, I have a dilemma."  
There is an over-dramatic sigh from the other end, "It's that latte boy, isn't it?"  
"Guilty as charged."  
"So," she says, "what is it now?"  
"He gave me his number."  
"_HE WHAT_?"

Ryan is completely unaffected by Shar's sudden shrillness. Unfortunately, he's used to it and it doesn't really affect him anymore. So he simply waits for his sister to calm down a little before continuing.

"He gave me his number. It's written on my latte."  
"That is so . . . Have you called him yet?"  
"No," Ryan answers truthfully, "I wanted to ask you first."  
"Don't call. Slip him your number tomorrow and see what happens."  
"But—"  
"Not buts, Ry!"  
"Okay . . ."  
"Now, go work. I know you have things to be doing besides obsessing over latte boys."  
"Of course, Shar. Bye~"  
"Toodles!"

After hanging up, Ryan takes a deep and calming breath before glancing at Danforth's number in his phone and then drinking the rest of his (now relatively cold) latte. It helps calm him a little before he has to run through his lines and do all sorts of other things. It would all just have to wait, because hell. They had taken so long to get that far, they would wait another day. It wasn't that long. Ryan could handle it—he had self control! And anyway, he was so busy that he didn't have any time to call.

It would all work out.

* * *

"So how did it go?"  
Chad shrugged, "Dunno, man. He hasn't called back yet, if that's what you're asking."

* * *

So the next day, Ryan slips Chad his number with his change. And he's worried for a moment because Chad doesn't seem to notice it, but then he does notice it and Ryan sighs in relief. When he gets his change back, they linger for a few moments before Ryan takes his change and then waves on his way out. He almost wants to blow a totally dramatic kiss, but he decides that's a little too _totally_ gay.

Either way, Ryan loses all of his confidence once he gets out to his car. The confidence he has on stage is really not very stable off the stage. But hey, what's done is done, so it's really not that big of a deal, right? So Ryan waits. He doesn't have much to do (because there's no show that night), so he basically does stretches and dances. It helps calm him down a little, at least.

Dancing always makes him calm, because it's what he does the best. He loves dancing, but he's not inherently fond of clubs. There isn't enough technique in clubs—it's all wild and animalistic. So instead he dances in his studio. It's not actually a studio—just a guest room with mirrors along the closet door—but Ryan is okay with that. It is, after all, _his_ space to dance. And coming from a set of twins, Ryan finds personal space extremely important. Maybe that's why he never invites the people he sleeps with into his apartment.

It's funny, but Ryan almost thinks he might invite Chad in.

* * *

Maybe he was busy or something. Chad didn't really expect anything to come of it. Not really. Seriously. He wasn't let down or anything, because that would be stupid. Totally and utterly stupid. Then again, no one ever said Chad _wasn't _stupid so. There was that.

Anyway, the point is that Chad is not quite on his game. And that is why he almost doesn't notice the slip of paper that Ryan hands him with the money that Chad was using to pay for Ryan's latte. But Chad did notice—at the very last moment—and he slipped the piece of paper into the pocket of his apron with a sly smile. He handed Ryan his change, and their hands lingered for slightly longer than probably proper.

Not that they were in Victorian times or anything, so maybe it was okay. Whatever. The point isn't that they lingered. The point is he has Ryan's number and a very cute little wave promising something more. God, Chad is so totally fucked.

* * *

"Just call him."

Troy is one of those people that believes everyone should just run head-first into things. Generally, Chad is the same way but. Not this second, because that's Ryan's number he's staring at and it's kind of absolutely terrifying because he's never done anything like this before.

It's about 7PM. Chad figured that was an okay time—he checked some ticket website to confirm that no, Ryan didn't have a show that night. Chad was kind of thankful for that, just like how he was thankful for Troy taking the phone from his hands and hitting call. When he took the phone back, there was a smooth and elegant voice on the other end.

"Hello?"  
"H-hi. Ryan? This is Chad—you know, the latte boy?"

* * *

The phone rings. Ryan—even though he knows better—picks up on the second ring. He would have picked up on the first, but his hands were shaking too much and he dropped the phone by accident.

"Hello?"  
"H-hi. Ryan? This is Chad—you know, the latte boy?"

The stutter is kind of cute. Ryan smiles, even though he knows "Chad" can't see it. It's good to know his name, really.

"_Danforth_, right?"

By complete accident, Ryan puts a strange emphasis on the last name. It's slightly husky and probably a little forward, but oh well. Can't take it back now.

There is a sharp intake of breath, "_Yeah_."  
"So," Ryan says sweetly, "what are you calling about?"  
"I—uh. You—are," Chad takes a deep breath, "Are you free on Saturday?"  
Ryan laughs, really and truly, "As a matter of fact, I am."  
"So we're not going to get coffee because just. No. And I'm going to assume you probably don't want to go see a play—so how about dinner and, um . . . We can go to a museum before?"  
"You know," Ryan says, certain that the smile on his face is audible now, "that sounds pretty amazing."  
"Somehow, Ryan can't shake the grin.

* * *

Chad is more nervous for his date with Ryan that he has ever been for anything else ever. It's probably a combination of the fact that it's weird asking someone that has been such an integral part of his life (but not) and that Chad probably likes Ryan more than he likes anyone he's ever asked out before. Shocking (since he hates lattes), but not entirely unreasonable.

Either way, he's panicking and constantly reminding himself to_ breathe_ because he's not really breathing that much and _man _he is amazingly nervous. Gabriella frets over him in that cute way Troy loves so much and that calms him down a little. Chad takes a deep breath. They're just going to a museum. It's nowhere fancy—just a bunch of dead, stuffed animals and rocks and artifacts and oh god what if Ryan didn't find the history of movies as interesting as Chad did? What if he thought the museum Chad picked was boring? What if he—

Gabriella puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him with the wide, brown eyes that Troy is so totally in love with. Chad takes a deep breath.

It would all be okay. They were just going to a museum.

* * *

In general, Ryan hates museums. It comes from spending too much time in them when he was little—field trips and family outings and god those dead, stuffed animals were creepy when you got right down to it. But Ryan knows there are museums without the animals and ones that might actually be interesting. Or at least dark enough that he can stare at Danforth—_Chad_, he corrects himself—without getting caught.

He's not disappointed. Chad actually picks an incredibly interesting museum that Ryan has actually never seen. As they wander around in the building, Ryan is transfixed by the magic of movies. He wanted to do movies, at one time, with Sharpay. And then the pair had found out that Ryan was best on Broadway and Sharpay was hottest in Hollywood. It was just the way things worked—but it didn't mean that Ryan wasn't still immensely interested in movies and film.

Chad seemed to be interested too. Ryan thought it was very cute how Chad spouted off random facts for his benefit. Ryan spouted off a few of his own, much to Chad's surprise. Ryan had always liked surprising people—it's one of his favorite things to do. He's also finding out that Chad is much more than just a pretty face—although the hotness factor is a definite plus. The jealous looks of some girls is all the testament Ryan needs to that fact. To make it even worse, Ryan slips his hand into Chad's as they walk around because he can and because Ryan has always been a sort of touchy-feely person.

Chad doesn't seem to mind, so Ryan stays like that. It's nice, just walking around and discussing film. Ryan hardly ever just relaxes and he's almost forgotten how to do it. But being with Chad is easy and natural. No acting—which is a big deal for Ryan, because he's almost always acting. He hopes Chad knows that, but Chad probably doesn't know that because Chad doesn't really know him. They'll learn though—Ryan will make sure of that. When he dates someone, he always gets to know them. It'll be easier, because they kind of already knew each other. Even if they didn't really know each other past "Ryan" and "Danforth, the Latte Boy." It's a start! A glorious start, because Ryan refuses to believe it's anything else.

He is nothing if not stubborn.

* * *

"That was—"  
"—amazing!"  
"—the best date I've had in a while."

Chad laughs. A small part of him feels like he should have known that Ryan was the type of person who never shut up, but it's cute all the same so he hardly cares. Ryan is holding his hand and they'd actually had a lot of fun just wandering around and looking at all the exhibits. Somewhere along the line, Chad learned that Ryan didn't like most museums, he practically ran on coffee, when he was little he aspired to be a star in Hollywood (among other things), his favorite movie was _Hello, Dolly!_ and being around Ryan was kind of like being in a musical. It involved a lot of random song and weird musical references.

All of which Chad thought were absolutely adorable. It's funny, Ryan isn't much like anyone he's met before. Most of his friends are kind of boring and safe. Ryan is all for climbing statutes and dancing in the street and swinging on swing sets made for children. He's not classic and traditional like most of the girls Chad has dated, which Chad thinks is the most amazing breath of fresh air he's had in a while. Ryan's pretty special, in other words. Usually, Chad sticks to safe topics like sports and the economy and what they're looking at. With Ryan, Chad finds himself on never-ending tangents of music, attractive guys, the price of cellphones, what he had for breakfast, movies he hated and anything else they can segue into.

"No," Ryan says with mock surprise, "I disagree! Giselle is the best Disney Princess because she's, like, the epitome of everything princess."  
"But dude. Giselle is totally not as hot as Cinderella."  
"Well, if we're going by hotness, then I think Esmeralda should win. She's the hottest."  
"Esmeralda isn't even a princess!"

* * *

They're arguing about Disney Princesses. They're arguing about _Disney Princesses_. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, Ryan can't quite wrap his brain around the fact that they are, in fact, having a very serious and thoughtful discussion on Disney Princesses. But his mouth seems to be working fine.

"No," Ryan hears himself say, "I disagree! Giselle is the best Disney Princess because she's, like, the epitome of everything princess."  
Chad raises an eyebrow, "But dude. Giselle is totally not as hot as Cinderella."

Ryan almost wants to make a comment about how Prince Charming didn't even have a name and really? Nothing was comparable to Patrick Dempsey _anyway_—but he doesn't.

"Well, if we're going by hotness, then I think Esmeralda should win. She's the hottest."  
"Esmeralda isn't even a princess!"  
"She should be! I don't see how just being most beautiful gets you Princess status, but having all of Paris burned down for you doesn't. Can't she be a gypsy Princess?"  
Chad laughs, "I don't think that's how it works."

Because he hates losing, Ryan pouts. It's gotten him his way numerous times before, and he's fairly sure it will do something for him now. He isn't too sure exactly _what_ it will do, but the results are usually favourable and these results are favourable, because Chad is leaning forward and kissing him. Ryan melts—absolutely _melts_. He's become sort of a sappy romantic after all the theatre he's done and this is kind of everything he's ever wanted. Maybe more than that.

Maybe this song wasn't going to end like "Taylor's Response" after all.

* * *

Chad isn't sure what makes him do it—just lean forward and press his lips to Ryan's—but he's glad he does. Because Ryan tastes like latte and sugar and salt and musical theatre. Or something else that's uniquely Ryan, but Chad's pretty sure it's musical theatre because it's not like anything he's ever tasted before and Ryan's the first person he's dated that's been into musical theatre which is probably because Chad still has nightmares about Michael Crawford's creepy, smiling face staring back at him from the inside of the fridge at midnight when all he wanted was string cheese—it doesn't matter.

What matters is that Ryan is kissing back. What matters is that Ryan is an awesome kisser. What matters is that this is a lot better than most of his other relationships. What matters is that there is nothing strange about this. What matters is that everything just feels _right_. It feels like all the pieces of a huge, four thousand piece puzzle have suddenly put themselves together and the final piece is slowly falling into place. Chad thinks those kinds of puzzles are awesome and as they pull away to gasp in air, Chad wonders if Ryan would like just sitting on the floor of Chad's apartment and doing a puzzle.

For some reason—even though Chad is usually all about clearing the bases for a home run as quickly as possible—he really just wants to sit on the floor and do puzzles with Ryan.

Not that he didn't want to have sex with Ryan! It was just that for once, that wasn't the only thing he wanted to do with the person he was dating.

* * *

"So when do I get to meet him?"

Troy, as Chad has found out over the years, is very invested in making sure that Chad dates the right people and that he's always happy. Part of him knows it's just Troy trying to make up for when he and Gabriella got together and all the hard work Chad put into that, but most of him finds it annoying. He knows that Troy is only trying to be a good friend, though, so he puts up with it.

"I'll ask him if he wants to come over for dinner sometime next week."  
"Cool," Troy grins, "we've heard so much about him that we're really looking forward to this."

* * *

"Of course I'll go," Ryan says into the phone as he stretches, "I've been hearing so much about Troy and Gabriella that I regard this above meeting your mother . . . No, we're just stretching. I have about ten minutes—yeah, Thursday would be fine. Do you check the showtimes before you plan this stuff? . . . Seriously? You're so weird! I love you too—bye."

Ryan shuts the phone and sets it down before stretching some more. Pulling a muscle wouldn't do any good, especially since he seemed to be the big draw for people and the cast just might kill him if he managed to hurt himself. Probably would kill him if he managed to hurt himself—which really just meant he had to be careful. Which is precisely why he's very carefully and methodically stretching when the girl who plays the Narrator walks up to him. Her name is Mollee, spelled with two e's because her parents were pretentious and because she likes being special. She's pretty and she plays the part well, but something about her just bothers Ryan. He's not sure what it is—probably that she seems to have some sort of crush on him.

"Ryan," she says softly, "who was that? A girlfriend?"  
"No," Ryan responds simply, "it was a barista from Starbucks."

Mollee gives him this sort of quizzical and dumb look—the kind that Ryan hates, because he knows there's got to be something more to this girl than harassing him about his personal life and parroting back songs and lines. Maybe there isn't though, which kind of scares Ryan.

"You seemed awfully friendly with them."  
Ryan laughs, "Danforth is one of my best friends, I should hope I sound friendly!"

It isn't a lie, which is what makes it so easy to say. Some part of him quietly says that it'd probably be much easier to just tell Mollee that he was on the phone with his boyfriend and be rid of her, but he dislikes sharing his personal life with the people he works with. Especially girls that he thinks will probably take it badly—he's had enough of that back in high school. He's had enough of it in general, but that's a different story entirely. Mollee seems to take that for an answer and wanders off to go bother someone else that isn't him, so Ryan continues stretching even though he really wants to go see Chad. Then again, he always wants to go see Chad—his skills at continuing on with life as it is had gotten better as Chad had started randomly showing up at his performances.

Sometimes he's with a girl—who Ryan assumes is Gabriella, from Chad's descriptions of her—but usually he's alone. It's those days that Ryan does his best performances.

* * *

Chad hangs up, not wanting to bother Ryan even though he said he wasn't busy. Chad has found that Ryan tends to annoy his cast by talking on the phone during stretches and everything else where he can squeeze a phone call in. They let him do it purely because Ryan seems to be the thing everyone goes to the show for—not that Chad blames them in the least. He goes to see Ryan regularly. Gabriella is always asking him if they can go backstage and Chad tells her that they can, but it's a madhouse back there. He went backstage just once, because Ryan had called and asked if he would be there and if he would, would he mind bringing a cup of coffee because really it was one of those days. Chad had complied and the doorman hadn't let him in until Ryan had come out and led him inside.

There were so many people and so much happening that it had been easy for Ryan to slip Chad into his dressing room while he drank his coffee. There hadn't been time for much besides a few quick kisses and a promise for more later, but it had been enough for Chad. Well, besides the fact that he left all hot and bothered. Ryan had made up for it later, so Chad hadn't been too upset about it. Ryan had been stellar that night—in more ways than one, though Chad doubted that newspaper cared to cover the other performance.

He calls Troy, telling him that Thursday is on and Gabriella should probably make some of those delicious, _delicious_ brownies she's so famous for because Chad has found out that Ryan is prone to sweets and coffee. Sometimes, on days when he's in less of a rush to get to the theatre, Ryan orders a pastry or a cookie to go with his coffee. Chad suspects that it's just a ploy for Ryan to ask him what he recommends and for them to have an innuendo-filled conversation. He never tells Ryan to stop though. He would never tell Ryan to stop, because any moment where Ryan is speaking to Chad is a moment Chad covets.

* * *

Looking at his closet, Ryan suspects that spending four hours trying to come up with the perfect outfit for a casual dinner is slightly neurotic and very much insane. Except the outfit has to be just right because this is more nerve-wrecking than meeting parents and god did he really just consider the teal button-down shirt with the white pants?

Ryan takes a deep breath. He highly doubts that Chad's friends will really care about what he's wearing. He assures himself that this one dinner is not worth the worry lines he'll get from worrying any more than he already has. Chad loves him, that's enough. It's casual, no need to stress out. Just go with a nice pair of—not skinny!—dark wash jeans and a plain blue button-down shirt. One that brought out his eyes—and the hat that matched it. And the dark wash denim jacket, which meant the navy Converse. There, nice and simple and . . . Totally not him. Screw it.

Black skinny jeans, silver pinstripe fedora . . . Red trench coat, red button-down shirt—the one with the black patterning—and boots, just because. Eyeliner, just for good measure and _presto_! Instant Ryan Evans.

Shit. Was that Chad at the door? Yes, that was Chad at the door.

"Hi."  
"Oh good," Chad says, "you're actually dressed and not giving yourself ulcers over what to wear."  
Ryan laughs, "I was before you interrupted me. Do I look okay? Be honest."  
"Ryan," Chad murmurs, "you will always look okay as long as you're you."

For no reason at all, Chad brushes his fingers along Ryan's cheek. Ryan smiles and kisses Chad on the cheek because sometimes, words are superfluous. Sometimes body language says much more than words ever could, which is why—when Ryan slips his hand into Chad's—it's understood that they're ready to face demons, dragons, dungeons and maybe (if there's time left over) dinner.

* * *

Troy is the one who answers the door. Ryan panics internally, because he's never been good at making situations with males comfortable. He can see Gabriella standing just past Troy and is weighing his options when Troy speaks.

"You must be Ryan, I've heard so much about you!"

Because the entire trip to Troy's house Chad has been telling him over and over and over to just be himself, Ryan makes a ridiculously showy bow for Troy and Gabriella. He likes to make his entrances grand.

"The one and only, at your service."

Gabriella laughs, which puts Ryan at ease. These people don't hate him. He looks over to Chad, who's smiling and Ryan can tell that Chad is proud of him. No, proud of _them_.

* * *

"How did you two meet, exactly? Chad said you're a regular, but he didn't elaborate much."  
"Well," Ryan begins, "it all started because I was late for rehearsal and I _really_ needed coffee."

Chad sets down his glass of water and turns his full attention to Ryan. He's never heard the opposite side of the story.

"So I stopped at the Starbucks on my way to work because even though I was late, it was more imperative that I have my coffee than I get to rehearsal. It was 8:11, which I know because I kept looking at the clock and thinking that really, I was going to be dead meat even_ if_ my tardiness was for a coffee run, and I was trying to decipher the menu when I reached the front of the line and there was the man of my_ dreams_. I promptly forgot about everything I was thinking previously and ordered some ridiculous latte from Danforth, the latte boy, and rushed to rehearsal. But—and you should be happy about this, Chad—the latte boy was _so_ distracting that I decided I needed to go to Starbucks again. And again. And again. Eventually, Chad wrote his number on my drink but I'm such a scaredy cat that I couldn't bring myself to call him, so I slipped him my number with my cash. And, as they say, the rest is history!"

Without really thinking about it, Chad rattles off Ryan's order from that day: "Single Grande, 7 pump peppermint, caramel sauce top, no whip, latte."  
"I'm not sure," Ryan says in a voice laced with amusement, "if I should be creeped out or flattered that you remember my order."

Gabriella gives him a look that Chad _thinks_ means something along the lines of _he ordered a latte?_ but he can't be sure exactly what she meant because Gabriella is a master of complicated and incomprehensible looks. Chad is pretty sure that only Troy understands them all and because he is definitely not Troy, he doesn't understand what she's trying to ask him. It's okay though, because Troy asks it for her. Or at least, Troy asks a question—it may or may not be the one Gabriella was trying to ask.

"He ordered a latte?"  
"What," Ryan asks innocently, "is wrong with lattes?"

Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, Chad should have known that one day his drinkism would come back to bite him in the ass. At least Ryan would probably think it was funny—or some kind of crazy, random happenstance a la _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_. Absently, Chad wonders if Ryan likes frozen yoghurt.

"You see," Chad starts, "before I met you, I really sort of hated making lattes."  
"Oh? Do tell me more."  
"You know how when you watch _Power Rangers_ there's always that one Ranger you kind of hate for no real reason but they kind of grow on you after a while? Yeah. That's me and lattes."

Ryan stares at Chad for a long moment. And then, he laughs—the slow and creeping kind of laughter that builds until it suddenly bursts forth and infects everyone. Troy and Gabriella are certainly infected and, for a moment, Chad can't see what's so funny. Then he realises that he just compared a latte to a Power Ranger and yeah. That's funny, even if he's laughing at himself.

It's weird how easily Chad laughs around Ryan, how infectious Ryan's laughter is. Troy seems to notice it—maybe Gabriella does too, but it really shows clearly on Troy's face. Troy gets it. Troy gets that Ryan is the . . . The harmony to Chad's melody. He feels like he's known Ryan forever and a day—it's something he can't explain. He feels like it would be expressed best through song, but that's not really his area of expertise, it Ryan's. Once they've all calmed down, Gabriella is disappears into the kitchen. Ryan is grinning and Chad can't help but grin back. Because it is the easiest and most natural thing in the world, Chad leans forward and presses his lips to Ryan's. It's to say all the things he can't explain, because Chad has never been that great with words.

When they part, Ryan smiles—this one soft and understanding—before Gabriella returns with a tray of brownies. Chad doesn't have Ryan's attention any longer then, because he is wholly focused on the brownies. Gabriella laughs at that.

"You can have one if you like—they're a secret family recipe."

Chad isn't really sure what's cuter—the look in Ryan's eyes when he tasted the brownies or the look in Ryan's eyes when Gabriella told him he could have the whole tray.

* * *

It isn't all that strange for Ryan to wake up tangled together with someone, he's done it dozens of times. But as the grogginess wears off and the room comes into focus, he realises something. He's in _his_ room tangled together with someone—and that never happens. Ever. He almost panics, but then there is a sleepy mumble from the other person and he calms down. It's just Chad. It's just Chad, and he can deal with that. Ryan smiles and runs a hand through Chad's hair while singing softly under his breath.

"_The dawn is breaking, a light shining through. You're barely waking, and I'm tangled up in you, yeah_."  
Chad pulls Ryan a little closer, "'m open, 're closed. . . follow, you go . . . see your face light up again."  
"_Even the best fall down sometimes,_" Ryan sings softly,"_even the wrong words seem to rhyme—out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find you and I collide_. Go back to sleep, beautiful."

Ryan presses a kiss to Chad's forehead as he disentangles himself. Chad has fallen asleep again, so Ryan heads to the bathroom. As he's looking at himself in the mirror, Ryan thinks about all the people he's turned down, all the nights he's spent in someone else's bed, all the times he's dumped Martinis on someone, all the words he's said but not meant. None of those things involve Chad. Ryan reaches out a hand to the mirror and touches his nose on the reflection, remembering how much it stung when it had hit the pavement in twelfth grade because of that jackass Austin. He touches the barely visible white line across his left cheek, remembering the sudden rush of pain and blood from the knife after picking the wrong fight at a bar. He touches his right eye, remembering the swelling and the pain from the black eye so graciously bestowed upon him in sixth grade for being a "fucking queer."

And the he smiles, because he knows each of those guys will never _ever_ be as happy as he is with Chad. Every single one of the people that berated him—each person who told him that it was against God's will—would never know what happiness was with the darkness lurking in their hearts. Ryan almost feels bad for them, but he can't bring himself to. It isn't because he's mean or malicious, but simply because they didn't feel sorry for him. It's important to treat others as you want to be treated, isn't it? Ryan doesn't ever want people to feel sorry for him because he sucks cock, so he won't feel bad for them.

He's so deep in his thoughts that it surprises him when Chad wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and looks into the mirror with him.

Because he's not sure what else to do, Ryan sings, "_I'm quiet you know—you make a first impression. I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind_."  
"_Even the best fall down sometimes_," Chad assures him, "_even the stars refuse to shine—out of the back you fall in time. I somehow find you and I collide_."

They stand like that for a moment, looking into the mirror. Chad's chin is resting on Ryan's shoulder, his arms wrapped around Ryan's waist. Ryan's hands grip the white porcelain of his sink, afraid to let go because the moment is too perfect. It is Chad who breaks the silence.

"Howie Day?"  
"I like Howie Day," Ryan says defensively.  
Chad laughs, "I didn't say there was anything wrong with that, it's just not what I normally hear the morning after."  
"That," Ryan declares, "is because I am at least eight times as awesome as anyone else you've been with."  
"I don't know," Chad teases, "Taylor was pretty awesome."

Ryan huffs—which makes Chad laugh again and would normally make Ryan huff even more, but instead makes him smile. He twists around in Chad's grip to press a kiss to Chad's nose—it's too awkward of a position to do much else.

Very softly, he sings, "_Danforth, the latte boy—bring me java, bring me joy. Oh, Danforth, my latte boy! I love him, I love him, I love you_."  
"I must be pretty awesome if you're writing poetry about me. Do you do that for all the guys?"  
"No," Ryan answers truthfully, "just you."

They stand like that for a little while, completely comfortable and relaxed, before Chad loosens his grip and tugs Ryan into the kitchen. Ryan protests—he needs to take a shower, his hair looks awful, he needs to brush his teeth—but Chad just laughs and sits him down at the kitchen table. He's going to start complaining again, but Chad gives him a wicked grin and places his hands down on the table.

"So," Chad says in a completely inappropriate manner, "what can I get you today?"  
Ryan shifts so he's supporting his chin on his interlaced fingers, "Hmmm. Well, are you on the menu?"

* * *

It's horrible. He's heard the line at least eight or nine times before (People generally thought they were clever, but really. It'd been said before.) and each of those times he'd thought it was a stupid, _stupid_ pick-up line. When Ryan says it, it doesn't sound stupid. It sounds sexy. Then again, Chad is slowly becoming convinced that Ryan can make anything sound sexy. It has to be some sort of magical spell Ryan is casting—it has to be his training in drama—because Chad doesn't usually spend the morning after singing Howie Day and having poetry written for him. He doesn't usually spend the morning after hearing pick-up lines.

"Well," Chad says without missing a beat, "that particular menu item is only available for our VIP customers. Are you one of those?"  
"I don't know—what would I have to do if I wasn't?"  
"I think that would have to start with letting me make you some breakfast and then, possibly, you showing me around your apartment."  
"Okay," Ryan smiles, "I can do that."

Chad smiles back—honest and genuine, because there is something about when Ryan smiles that is absolutely infectious—and starts getting out the ingredients and tools to make breakfast. He's not all-star chef material, but he has it on good authority (someone that isn't Troy) that he makes a _mean_ omelette. And because Ryan has eggs in his fridge, Chad figures it's a pretty safe bet that he'll eat them. He puts some bread in the toaster too though, just in case. Everyone likes toast—that's what Gabriella always told him, anyway, and Gabriella is usually right about that kind of thing. She's a smart girl.

He'd have to remember to thank her for taking him to that musical.

* * *

It was exactly 8:11, which was 11 minutes past 8, which was 11 minutes past when Ryan Evans should have known he was in love, which was 11 minutes past when Ryan Evans was served an omelette and coffee at his kitchen table.

But, at exactly 8:11, Ryan Evans was sitting at his kitchen table and sipping at his coffee while he waited for Chad to finish his breakfast and besides those 11 minutes didn't matter in the slightest because he knew that he was in love and that was everything that mattered in the world.

* * *

**Postit-Notes: **I am so obsessed with Starbucks uniforms for no logical reason, but the real inspiration for this fic comes from the song "Taylor, the Latte Boy." If that wasn't obvious enough already. XD Anyway, I'm sure there will be more of this 'verse (there is more written that didn't strictly fit into the plotline) in the future—I like it way too much to just stop here. :]


End file.
